


your innocence is on at such a rakish angle

by smokingbomber



Series: Mamozoi: The Apple Maps Edition [2]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Age Difference, Character Development, Consent Issues, Demisexuality, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mamoru Doesn't Cheat, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Relationship Negotiation, Shitennou, Time Travel, Zoisite Is Pushy, being the porn you want to see in the world, no beta we die like prince endymion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingbomber/pseuds/smokingbomber
Summary: This is a filled-out version of a two-part Mamozoi thing I wrote for a prompt in 2017. Crystal Tokyo Zoisite lands in present day Mamoru's dorm room at Harvard in the middle of the night and emotions and sexual tomfoolery happen.TW: Zoi really is pushy at first, to the point that it's technically assault even if Mamoru refuses to think of it that way, and it's not a comfortable thing even though it's rooted in misunderstanding and gets fixed in the course of the fic.
Relationships: Chiba Mamoru/Zoisite
Series: Mamozoi: The Apple Maps Edition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1272236
Kudos: 4





	your innocence is on at such a rakish angle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bootyfoots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootyfoots/gifts).



"Goodnight, Usako," mumbled Mamoru sleepily into his phone with tired but deeply honest affection. He waited, then laughed a little. "I know you're not going to bed. I love you too. I have to sleep..."

Waiting again after another tiny round of goodbyes -- she'd be hurt if he hung up first -- and then listening to the faint change in the way her breath sounded that meant she was smiling, he finally heard the call disconnect on her end. He let his phone drop to the mattress beside his pillow. He felt his breathing start to slow and let his mind wander, though he knew he'd be sorry in the morning if he didn't plug his phone in. Right now, he was all right.

The tiny single he'd scored in Kirkland House didn't feel so empty when she called, even if he had to make himself stay up until one in the morning so she could catch him when she got out of school. _Somehow,_ Mamoru had managed to transfer rather than having to do his entire freshman year all over again. It really was an absurd -- almost suspicious -- level of accommodation they'd given him, for all that he'd disappeared off the face of the earth for six months and then jammed a year's worth of classes into a semester and three short summer sessions back in Tokyo. He wasn't entirely sure how the entire mess had even worked, but suspected Setsuna of having friends in high places.

Whether or not she'd gotten him the single was an academic matter: it was useful as hell, even if it was lonely. And even if it was lonely, that was better than being stuck in a small space for months with someone who would have to stay a stranger--

Suddenly, Mamoru was wide awake again, wide awake and uneasy. He could sense magic somewhere nearby, sharp and clear to his starved senses; it wasn't evil, it wasn't a youma, but it could still be something that might hurt people accidentally. His fingers curled into his sheets and he stared, unseeing, at the dark ceiling. He needed to do something, and he was _so_ tired, and it wasn't _evil_ he'd be able to _tell_ , and he didn't want to deal with this in the middle of the night.

He knew "don't wanna" really didn't work for this sort of thing. The only things Mamoru'd ever let himself even _think_ that about are green peppers and the meetings with a social worker he would have to suffer through until he was twenty.

Reluctantly, he sat up in bed and swung his feet over the side, standing up and reaching out with his heightened magical sense. He wanted to henshin: it would make his senses even sharper, and offer him some passive defense, but the feeling was growing. It seemed to be on the other side of his door, and he could tell other people were out there--

The door opened, and he threw up his hand to shade his eyes from the hallway's light. An ostensibly locked door opening, he couldn't help thinking, was really weirdly disappointing. Even more mundanely, the person who opened it -- the silhouette was short and slim with wavy long hair -- actually closed it again after coming inside. 

Mamoru's night vision was shot, and there were still stars dancing in his eyes as the person approached; he backed up and fell backwards over the end of his bed, then leapt to his feet with the window behind him, hair sticking up amazingly rakishly for what should honestly just have been unappealing bedhead. "What do you want? Who are you?" he demanded, hastily adopting a defensive stance.

"Endy--?" came a familiar voice, sounding baffled. The voice was a gutpunch, it was heartbreak coming from this slim figure, it was homesickness and grief. But it was so cheerfully puzzled as it continued, "It's me, what are you even-- why are you sleeping in a closet?"

A voice that belonged to a rock sitting on his nightstand.

Mamoru reached out with his soul, this time, looking for the connections he had -- like the strings of fate -- to the souls locked in the gems he'd taken with him, the souls which slept more and more often, only speaking with him when he called. 

The connection to Zoisite was there, still. Only-- the thread was split between rock and intruder, and it gave him the promise of an immense headache if he tried to do anything more than glance at it.

"What-- how--?" the prince stammered uncomprehendingly. His head turned from the figure to the rocks, and then back to the figure, and he willed his sight to recover. After a half second, he could see a little better, and the figure was still approaching him. Was approaching and was definitely Zoisite, no question. Mamoru's eyes widened, and he froze in his tracks.

"--oh," said Zoisite, also stopping, and then again and more emphatically, " _oh_." And then there was an unmistakable grin in his voice, full of mischief. "Ara~!"

All of a sudden, the nineteen-year-old found himself being pressed back against the window and kissed insistently by a man half a head shorter than himself, the sharp rich scent of some kind of flower that somehow shared characteristics with caramel filling his nose. He flailed for a second, then took Zoisite's shoulders and pushed him back, blushing furiously. "Are you _kidding_ me? You feel like you're really you, but if you're really you then you _know_ I have a girlfriend, and you _know_ she's so jealous she was even jealous of Chibiusa--" he gasped out, looking down and finally seeing bright green eyes in the light from the street outside.

"--and you _know_ she gets to have all _kinds_ of fun with her girls while you pine away in your little dorm on the other side of the world," said Zoisite, reaching up a delicate hand to lightly trace down the side of Mamoru's face, then land with fingertips on his prince's lips. He was smiling lopsidedly, but there was something behind his eyes that looked incredibly indignant -- and achingly regretful -- on Mamoru's behalf. 

"I'm not interested in anyone but her!" Mamoru protested defensively, taking Zoisite's wrist and gently moving the hand away from his mouth-- but he was blushing, and Zoisite was still quite close. As he pulled back to give Mamoru a little more space, he could tell the blood wasn't rushing _just_ to Mamoru's face.

"No," Zoisite said very softly, sounding like agreement at first. He lifted his other hand up past the front of the heat radiating from Mamoru's bare chest without touching it, and curled it around the back of the taller boy's neck to slip fingers into his black hair. Then he continued, projecting confidence and displaying faintly apologetic correction. "No. You're only not interested in anyone you've met here on campus, or back in Tokyo besides her. In fact, you're not generally interested in anyone you're not already connected to."

Zoisite took a breath and waited, but Mamoru stood still again, letting him touch, listening and not objecting to these particular touches. So he went on.

"Connected here--" Like quicksilver, the youngest knight's wrist practically melted from Mamoru's grasp and his hand came up to touch at Mamoru's temple. "And here." And the hand came down again to lay flat against Mamoru's chest, over his heart, over the place where they both knew a brilliantly shining crystal lived, warm and golden and full of the sense of home that everyone from Earth instinctively knew was theirs.

Mamoru's back was getting cold against the window, and Zoisite was like fire in front of him, hypnotic and burning hot, always moving even when stationary. Blue eyes locked on green, and the next protest died unspoken as Zoisite let his hand fall from Mamoru's chest, then gently took Mamoru's own hand and delicately placed the tip of one of his fingers between his lips. It was mostly a kiss, but there was the barest flicker of Zoisite's tongue against the very tip, and then the strawberry blond guardian smiled around it and let go of Mamoru's hand.

It took a second before Mamoru remembered to move his hand away, and in that second, Zoisite held his breath.

Mamoru sucked in a breath, sharp and quick, and then released a puff of it between his teeth. Not quite a hiss. "I-- I think-- that's called demisexuality--" he managed, the words sort of falling out of his mouth. "And-- how the hell-- how the _hell_ would you know, you've been a _rock_ for three years--!"

Zoisite leaned in, and his breath against Mamoru's collarbone was the start of a brushfire, lightning against dried foliage and naked twigs. Mamoru could feel his closeness everywhere, not just where erection began to press against erection, with trousers and pajama bottoms in between. When Zoisite's mouth landed against his skin, Mamoru could feel it in every nerve, and he couldn't--

Part of the empathic orphan prince's mind was almost always dissociated, and it served him well when he was overwhelmed. Now it questioned his physical assumptions, and determined that _no_ , he _could_ make the fire-bright young man stop. He could make himself make Zoisite stop. There was no magic stripping him of his will or mind or autonomy, not this time, not from Zoisite. He swiftly examined the fact that he hadn't already made Zoi stop, and determined that it was because he didn't _want_ to, on a gut level, which was new for someone that wasn't Usagi. He absolutely did not want to cheat, and didn't have to, even if Zoisite was right.

As he came to that realization, his empathy could taste something else in Zoisite's emotion surface: the strange assuaging of a very old guilt and the rapid birth of a new one, much lighter, to replace it.

The combination of agency and suspicion was what finally made Mamoru shake himself out of the reaction rollercoaster enough to put the brakes on. This time he was rough as he took Zoisite's shoulders and pushed him away, then further back, arms' length. He kept going, pushing the shorter boy toward the bed, then down to sit on it. His face was red and he was flustered and the evidence of his arousal was still quite apparent in his pajamas, but he stepped back and pulled his chair between them to hide it.

"No. Usa and I didn't discuss this. Not okay." He crossed his arms and scowled at the prettiest of his Shitennou. "Yes, you caught me, you're beautiful and okay yes I do want you, in addition to loving you with everything I've got-- just like I love the other guys-- just like I love Usa. But that doesn't mean I want to cheat on her with you."

He took a deep breath. "So-- first you're going to tell me how you're sitting on my bed and on my nightstand at the same time, and then you're going to tell me why getting me worked up made you stop feeling guilty and then made you feel guilty about something else, and then you're going to tell me the BIG THING you're not telling me, and then -- if what you tell me is actually the truth -- I am going to call Usa back and tell her you're here and trying to get in my pants and ask her if that's okay."

Zoisite pouted, crossing his own arms in mirror image to Mamoru's, and scowled right back. "You are literally no fun."

"I'm a _lot_ of fun," said Mamoru pointedly, "on _my terms_."

The pretty, pretty boy on Mamoru's bed sighed deeply, slouching in defeat. "I'm from Crystal Tokyo," he said in a low voice, turning his face away. "We all feel guilty you stuck it out alone this whole time at Harvard, so you even starting to-- the idea that I could maybe lessen that, just a little?" Suddenly he was looking up at Mamoru again, his eyes shining bright and sorrowful and hopeful, all at once. "That's the relief. The guilt is that the other guys aren't in on it. And I honestly have no idea how I'm here, I legitimately thought I was going into your-- I mean King Endymion's-- closet to pick out an outfit for him to wear into town, we were going to go out incognito..."

Mamoru stared. He couldn't stop staring, and he wasn't sure what was up with his heart, but it was definitely beating too fast and too hard, and he felt faint, and he felt so much hope all at once that he could taste it in his mouth and feel it singing through his blood, and his eyes stung and Zoisite looked blurry, there in the semi-dark. He opened his mouth to say something, dimly aware that he _should_ , but he couldn't make the words come.

They'd be alive again. They were going to be alive again. He would have them back for real, he would have them _back_ , he would be able to touch them, to hold them, to know they were there-- he would be able to let them hold him, he would be able to fall apart on people whose main focus was on him, not split among all the senshi.

He took in a shuddering breath instead, and stepped around the chair, coming back over to put his hand on the side of Zoisite's face, and then bent to kiss the top of that bright-haired head. 

It took him a couple of tries to pick up his phone after he went around to the other side of the bed. Deciding that precautionary measures were the things that saved phone replacement costs, he sat down to call Usagi, his back to his guardian.

"...yeah," he said into the phone, hands and voice both shaky. "Yeah I'm fine. I just-- Usa. Zoisite's here--" 

A pause, and he vehemently and uselessly shook his head. "No, really here and not evil. I mean his gem is here too, but he's really physically here in a real human body. From Crystal Tokyo. ... yeah, I don't know if they hid or what. ... no, he doesn't know how he got here. ... no, it's-- Usa-- he knows about you and the girls, he wants to-- ... yeah. ... yes. Is that-- is that okay?" 

An instant later, Zoisite could _feel_ as much as see the tension rush out of Mamoru, feel it almost like a breeze through the room.

"... really? I mean of course really! I know you wouldn't-- I mean, I'm sorry, I-- ... okay, okay, I'm not sorry, fine! I just-- thank you... no, I do, I _do_ need to-- you know nothing could-- ... oh my god, Usako, she is? I'm going to die. ... Minako NO!! Yes fine go away! Tell her I-- OKAY ALREADY!" 

Mamoru did not throw the phone. He _did_ very vehemently press 'end call' and then turn the ringer off and jam it in the drawer of his nightstand. Then he sat there with his face burning in his hands, hunched over, really not okay with the tsunami of mutually exclusive and equally emphatic emotions warring over his physiology. Even the relief! Even the relief chemicals contributed to the not-okay!

He could feel the bed moving, could feel Zoisite creeping across it toward him; a second later, he felt Zoisite's arms around him, gathering him close. He somewhat awkwardly tried to vanish inside the embrace. He was too tall for Zoi to envelop efficiently, but it didn't matter. 

He could also feel Zoisite's complete lack of judgement, or even disappointment, when he started just crying unsexily, years of pent-up feelings finally releasing themselves into the care of his knight. His knight of healing--

After all, Zoisite wanted to give him what he needed, and what he needed at that moment was just this.


End file.
